


a sense of belonging

by cykelops



Category: Justice League (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cykelops/pseuds/cykelops
Summary: Arthur was pretty, he was so pretty. Barry had let his hair grow out once and he looked like a wet possum by the time it reached his shoulders. Arthur managed to make the long hair and beard look like a lion’s mane, perfectly in place even on a creature of the sea.





	1. hermes, god of trade

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a fun, short multi-chapter fic that i will write whenever im too stressed to work on my other fics probably. don't expect it to be TOO good, maybe after it's over i'll come back and refine it.

Lois Lane coined the name Justice League and it was on the front page of the Daily Planet before it was the name of their text chain. Weeks later it was the last thing to go up in their headquarters: Hall of Justice, Home of the Justice League. Bruce (Batman when the mask is on, Barry reminded himself) had valued their privacy too much to expose their young alliance to the public eye and, to hear Diana and Clark tell it, that was only a temporary measure. They wanted a Hall the people could see and visit, a symbol of trust. Bruce remained silent when they spoke of this future but never rebuked them their dreams. 

Barry had a place there like he'd had nowhere else. 

His father’s voice chastised him for the sentiment. Barry always had a place in the world. He belonged wherever he wanted to be. 

He wanted to belong with the League. Building their HQ had enlisted the assistance of Bruce’s robots, Barry’s speed, and Victor’s blueprints. Victor and Barry spoke the same language. Their processing speeds differed but complemented each other nonetheless. They were closer in age than anyone else in the League. They joked about running in different circles in high school and bonded over their shared view of a lethargic world. It helped that every day now Victor greeted him with a bump of their knuckles. It felt like friendship. 

He had to balance his work and _ social life _ . He was just happy to have both. Leaving work with a reason, a purpose, a place to be, made him ecstatic. He ran back to base and then needed Alfred to pump him full of sugar right away. Bruce’s dad had practice babying overpowered adults who didn't know how to take care of themselves. 

And every once in a while, he would see Arthur. 

By their end of their crusade against Steppenwolf, Arthur had no questions about being a member of the team, but that didn’t mean he had any experience about running with a crowd. He had a much rougher work life to balance out, being the lost son of Atlantis and all, and Bruce never called him as often as he did the rest of them. If they had a place to file formal concerns, that would be Barry’s #1. 

Arthur was  _ pretty _ , he was so pretty. Barry had let his hair grow out once and he looked like a wet possum by the time it reached his shoulders. Arthur managed to make the long hair and beard look like a lion’s mane, perfectly in place even on a creature of the sea. He was  _ big _ , not like Clark or Diana were big but thicker, Barry didn’t have the right words to describe it. Every time he tried it came out like quotes out of a romance novel with influences of Michelangelo's work. He concluded Arthur could pick him up and break him in half and he would have eyes only for the flex of his muscular arms.  _ That  _ implied horrors about his self-preservation, something he made diligent note of in his diary.

Diana was beautiful, but her heart was somewhere else, lost in the sands of time. Clark carried his love for Lois like a mantle as visible as his cape. Bruce was stuck somewhere in between them and couldn’t decide which of the two he loved more... Okay, alright. Maybe all of those were things Victor told Barry when he was helping him understand people as well as they both understood Victor’s schematics. It was easier with everything put into context, Barry just had to stop trying to look at it in ways his brain wasn’t designed to. 

He didn’t want to bother Victor by waxing poetic about Arthur’s eyebrows. He had to process the curve of his cheekbones and the  _ blue-green, blue-green, blue-green,  _ of his eyes all on his own. And his thighs, had Barry talked about his thighs yet?

He buried his face in his hands and groaned, drawing Victor’s attention away from his holographic keyboard. 

“Everything alright, Barry?” He asked. He probably had better things to do than listen to him whine, but he asked anyway. Victor was nice like that. Barry swung his feet where he had perched himself on a desk. 

“Long day. You know how it is.” He lied. 

Victor waved his hand in front of his face and Barry suddenly realized he hadn’t been looking at him at all. Victor’s lips quirked to one side. He tapped a finger against the screen Barry  _ had  _ been staring quite intently into. 

“Would this be making it longer?” 

Barry flushed down from his ears. Diana and Clark were on the screen too, but Victor’s finger was straight on Arthur. Barry didn’t know what he’d expected from someone who picked out his teammate’s romantic woes so well, his wouldn’t be any different. He was simply unaccustomed to being understood, it split him into a happy half and a horribly embarrassed half. 

“Is it-- Is it that obvious?” He mumbled. 

“Nope.” Victor popped his  _ p.  _ “Not to everyone.” 

Perfect. Barry groaned and slumped against the wall. He had one hope he held onto in life (a gross over-exaggeration, his brain supplied,  _ shut up, _ Barry replied) and it was that Arthur would  _ notice _ . Arthur was a man of initiative. He jumped head first into battle. If he noticed Barry was extra frazzled around him and that maybe, just maybe, his leg hadn’t cramped so hard in the training room that one time and he hadn’t  _ actually  _ needed Arthur to grab him by the waist and lay him down on one of the benches… If he noticed, then he would do something. Anything. Step on Barry’s squishy heart, or…

He hugged his knees up to his chest. 

“What do I do, Victor?” He finally whined to the man. 

“You two get along alright, Barry. You should just ask him if he’s interested in you as much as you’re interested in him.”

Victor made it sound so simple. Barry wasn’t convinced it was. His heart throttled him every time he and Arthur were in the same room alone. It choked him up differently than battle did, filling his stomach with butterflies or particularly angry prawns. 

Arthur and he did get along  _ alright _ . He was easy to get along with. You could get one of Arthur’s blindingly bright smiles for jokes that were worth pennies on the dollar and Barry had those to spare. He was a rough tease, he definitely knew how to make a guy squirm, but he was never  _ mean  _ or  _ unkind _ . Barry wouldn’t like him half as much if he was.

“Arthur’s alone.” Victor said, he didn’t even need to look at the screen where Arthur was pouring a water bottle over his head. Barry was out of there shamefully fast, but he still heard his friend laugh. 

Maybe Victor was right. He had to do more than hold Arthur’s attention for a few hours at a time. He wasn’t at base often, and Barry couldn’t visit him in Atlantis (he was scared to ask, more scared of the water). He wouldn’t… ask outright, or anything, but he could… flirt? People flirted.

He sped into the training room and stopped by the lockers beside Arthur. 

“Arthur! Hi! I’m. Fancy seeing you here! Come often?” 

His gut churned. To him, that trainwreck of a sentence unfurled in slow motion and still there was nothing he could do to stop it, much less untangle the mess of words before they hit Arthur in the face. The other man didn’t seem perturbed at all by the disorder, he turned and fixed Barry against the lockers with one flash of his teeth. 

“Hey, little Hermes. Don’t come as often as I like.” He winked with both eyes. Or blinked really meaningfully. Barry didn’t care which, it was bone-meltingly adorable. His head drooped to one side with the weight of fantasies knocking around his head. 

“Yeah.” Barry stretched out the word. “I was here earlier, but-- There’s plenty of warm-up instructions and the simulations set up a nice regime but I think we need more, um, cool down stuff. Like. Massages and stuff. Those cool chairs. My body hurts and I got no way of…”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying. He was making conversation so Arthur would keep looking at him like he was the only interesting thing in the room. Barry inhaled. He could do this, he was in control. He straightened up. Arthur never pushed him to look him straight in the eye, even if he seemed the kind of man who took that as a sign of respect, among these titans Barry’s so-called  _ eccentricities _ were part of him, a word that had gotten ugly for him with time and lessened with their company, they took him at more than face value. Without the pressure it was easier to ease into it, to meet Arthur’s vibrant blue-green eyes for a moment, holding, before letting go with a sigh. Good. That was good. 

As good as the drops of water tracing the contours of Arthur’s chests. They followed the thick black lines of his tattoos and pulled on the waistband of his sweatpants. Barry could follow their slow descent for hours, but he compromised with chasing a single one until it disappeared on the man’s happy trail. 

“That’s a clever idea. I’m always down to get worked over by a strong pair of hands… Are you, Barry?” 

Barry nodded. Whatever he said. He let his voice muffle the constant buzz of overstimulation around him. Arthur smiled again, right when he hadn’t braced himself for it, and Barry vibrated hard against the lockers. They rattled like an angry pack of snakes. He jumped away, startled, straight into Arthur’s chest. The other man steadied him with one hand on either of Barry’s shoulders and kept him from crashing down onto his knees.

“Just the man I was looking for.” Arthur said, like they hadn’t just been speaking. Atlanteans were things of mythology and Arthur had one foot on the Olympian pantheon. Maybe it was like that for him, always with his eyes on the horizon, only half listening to the puny mortals around him. Except he called Barry  _ little Hermes  _ with a dab of ambrosia on his tongue. It gave Barry hope he was always heard. “Can I ask you a favor?” 

“I. I mean. Yeah. Wow. Absolutely.” Barry didn’t know where to put his hands. Keeping them firmly on either side of his body was the smart thing. 

His face glowed with mischief. “Run down to the cellar and get us a few bottles of the good stuff Bruce’s been hiding from us. Meet me back at my place.” 

Arthur’s  _ place  _ was a room in the wing opposite to Barry’s  _ place.  _ They all had a space to call their own on base in case they ever needed it. Barry had been invited out for drinks with Arthur (and the team) before, but never back to his room. His heart quivered and cut off the air in his throat. 

“I can do that.” He exhaled. 

Arthur pat his shoulders warmly. He stepped off to one side and reached over to give the small of Barry’s back a good nudge. 

“My man. Don’t keep a guy waiting.” 

Barry saluted with two fingers and ran off before he could think about it. This was his home as much as it was Bruce’s, that much had been made clear to him when he joined up, but he would ask Alfred how to get into the wine cellar because he’d left his thieving days behind and wasn’t about to fall back into old habits, even on a technicality. 

He wouldn’t keep a guy waiting. It would be slow torture to stop himself from getting to Arthur’s room before Arthur did.


	2. hermes, god of eloquence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry visits Arthur's room, bottles in hand. Spoiler: They are not wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barry is trans in this fic, there's mention of his top surgery scars in it. I had a couple of friends read the fic to make sure everything was written respectfully and any trans man is welcome to give me feedback !! 
> 
> HOW DID THIS GET SO MANY HITS. thanks to everyone who commented. Im posting this because of you, because i am too terrified of the hit count. I haven't written porn in a long time, please be kind

The moment Barry stepped into the room with a bottle of whiskey on each hand Arthur slingshot something directly at his face. Barry’s time quickened, he put the bottles down on the coffee table and stopped to inspect the bright red projectile. It was a piece of fabric, stretchy by the feel of it. Barry unfolded it to find and inoffensive pair of track shorts. He held it daintily with two fingers and let the world slow to a crawl again.  
  
“What are these?” He wondered out loud.   
  
Arthur clapped his hands excitedly and dove for the bottles. Barry had to remember that for him they and Barry had sort of teleported a fair distance. He got one of them open in record time and downed a healthy gulp.   
  
“They're for you. To change into.” He said, wiping the excess liquor around his mouth. Barry looked down at his leggings.   
  
“What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?”   
  
Arthur laughed. He threw himself back on the couch and sent an explosion of cushions into the air. It was an ornate piece of furniture, fitting to the underwater Rococo theme Bruce had sustained while decorating Arthur’s room. It blended into the dark walls if not for the gold frames and arms. Whiskey bottle in hand, Arthur retrieved a smaller, plastic one from one side of the couch and tossed it at Barry’s head. He mustered the grace of a talented walrus to stop it from clattering onto the coffee table.   
  
Barry turned the label to face him. It was some kind of lotion promising stress relief and a good night’s sleep in a few lines. It was light, well used, with a dab of white peeked out the blue squirt top. It didn't do much to answer his question.   
  
“So... ?” He prompted.   
  
Arthur raised a hand and curved his fingers around thin air once, twice, three times in succession.   
  
“The shorts are so I can get at your legs. You said your body hurt, bet it's worst there.”   
  
His knee pounded as if to agree with him. Today’s training had left him in some degree of discomfort. Usually a couple hundred sugared treats later, his body regenerated or forgot about the pain, yet he was sore, so very sore. The promise of a massage was tempting on its own, that it came from Arthur only added to an itch Barry badly needed scratched.   
  
He hurt for his touch more than from any soreness in his muscles.   
  
It didn't have to mean anything, but it would mean the world to Barry and that wouldn't fair to Arthur, he had no idea how Barry felt or that he would be getting more out of this than simple pain relief. He shuffled aimlessly from side to side until finally Arthur shrugged. His indecision had lasted longer than was socially acceptable, Barry had missed his cue.   
  
“We don't have to if you don't want to, big guy. It can be drinks and Alfred’s snack platters if that's what you're feeling."   
  
He meant that, sincerely. He would give to the flow of Barry’s brainwaves regardless of what he chose and let the current carry him. Arthur was king of every kind of tide, even the unruly waters of Barry’s thoughts. He left him room to recover from his momentary silence, Barry took it while he still could.   
  
He changed into the shorts and tossed his sneakers off into a corner before Arthur could get the bottle up to his lips a second time. It was definitely weird to change into clothes that weren't his when he wasn't wearing any underwear, but he couldn't exactly leave Arthur alone while he found a pair of boxers in his own room. For one, it would be rude, and it would involve admitting he goes commando in the first place.   
  
He considered opening the second bottle of whiskey, but opted for borrowing Arthur’s. He sat on the bed in an antsy ball, cradling it in his lap. Alcohol didn't do much for him, but if he drank it fast enough he could hope for a momentary buzz. Arthur grabbed at nothing with the bottle gone and swiveled around to mark the culprit.   
  
“That's some skill you got. Giving me whiplash.” Arthur wagged his pointer finger at him.   
  
Barry preened. Skill, not trick. It was silly to get excited about phrasing. He had a tendency to pick out compliments like precious flowers in a bed of weeds. He kept them as he found them, even if the petals were bruised. Arthur knew what Barry did was more than sleight of hand. He butchered an apology around the mouth of the whiskey bottle. He left him a finger and a half of it as a sad, sad peace offering. Arthur took it with a whistle.   
  
“Damn, boy. What you got in your belly?”   
  
“Snackhole.” Barry rubbed his stomach. So long as he didn't speed up it would slosh around in there for a good ten minutes. He burped ridiculously loud. Make that seven minutes.   
  
Arthur cackled. He set the bottle on the night stand without finishing it.   
  
“Lie back for me and get your butt somewhere near the center of the bed.”   
  
Barry was good at listening to instructions, specially ones about his butt. He settled flat against the navy blue sheets and the pillows ringed with gold. They were soft, silken with some percentage of cotton. His nostrils flared to the scent of salt and something hotter, like copper coins in a sunny day. Arthur’s scent. His body stiffened, too tense for any kind of massage.  He knew a thing or two about massages.   
  
“I know a thing or two about massages.” He professed.   
  
“Oh yeah?” Arthur said obligingly. He retrieved the lotion bottle from where they’d abandoned it. He hiked up his sweats over his ankles and knelt beside Barry.   
  
“I live alone and my body benefits from healthy circulation, so I had to figure out how to do it myself.” Talking was easy, it distracted him from following the lines of Arthur's tattoos. “It's all about working towards the heart. That pumps all the blood so…”   
  
Barry choked. Arthur circled one of his thighs with his hands and worked on warming his skin in long, diligent strokes. Heating him up was the easiest part. Barry burned like a magic candle, bright and sparking with no sign of stopping. Arthur oiled him from ankle to hip and gave his thigh a squeeze, right over his artery where he wouldn't miss Barry’s heart skipping several pumps. Arthur tilted his head towards his sudden silence.   
  
“What else you got?”   
  
“I should. I better-- It's easier, I think, I'm sure that I should be on my belly right now.” Barry told Arthur’s ceiling.   
  
“You're the boss.” Arthur sang. He flipped Barry on his belly too fast. His world spun and settled on Arthur’s fluffed pillows. He gave in and sunk his face into the navy cloth.   
  
“Yep. That definitely feels right. Feeling correct right here.” He gave a thumbs up.   
  
“Right on.”   
  
Arthur held his right heel and dug his thumb into the back of his leg, punching the air out of Barry’s lungs. His fingers massaged upwards towards his calf, kneading where the aftermath of his training session knot him up the worst. It was painful-good, relieving the dull ache Barry had trouble getting rid off by himself. He could say nothing Arthur wasn't already doing, the man clearly understood what was required of his dexterous hands.   
  
Barry felt like an old radio, garbling through incoherent half-phrases as Arthur weighed down into the space behind his knee and left him speechless. He was without words, but leagues from silent. Involuntary, high pitched noises broke through his defenses, making for an embarrassing crescendo of sounds, in tandem with twitching kicks of his legs. Time and time again he fought the urge to seize Arthur by the wrist for a chance to catch his breath. Arthur always stopped before it became too much to withstand, smoothing over the afflicted muscles until Barry settled.   
  
And Barry, awful opportunist that he was, was enjoying this far more than normal.   
  
He got through both his legs from the knee down by balling Arthur’s sheets in his fists and naming every London borough he could remember from watching British crime dramas. Arthur had been nothing if not diligent and professional, but after the first rub down was done with in both his legs, he started touching him gentler. His fingertips painted ticklish lines, petting rather than massaging. Playful grazes intended to make Barry squirm. His big hands handled him without any extra delicacy, intermittently firm, like Arthur knew exactly how much Barry could take.   
  
He slipped in and out of peaceful lulls when Arthur reached high up his thighs. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric of his shorts to touch as high as his waist. All the pain in Barry’s body had curled into the pit of his stomach, it simmered and spread in licks of heat down his navel until the only borough he could remember was Whitechapel and thinking of England wasn't doing it anymore.   
  
Arthur poked him at the base of his spine and he jumped like a spooked rabbit.   
  
“Hey. What's up? Talk to me. You've gone all jittery, this is supposed to be relaxing.” Arthur pursed his lips. He poked him again, the second time Barry didn't jump. It was his way of showing he was worried.   
  
“It's not what you're doing. That feels good. Soo good. You have no idea. It's like you put me through one of those pasta machines-- Not in a Final Destination way or anything, in a good way. Get back to me in a second.”   
  
He failed to mention that his brain was having a hard time getting enough blood not already flushing Barry’s chest and back and lower still. His heart beat in his throat and between his legs.   
  
“You swear it feels fine?”   
  
Barry nodded repeatedly for longer than it was necessary. Arthur’s fingers were magic and that lotion was not a bottle of lies. He could feel the stress oozing out his pores. Arthur’s fingers hid beneath the end of his shorts, they pressed into the soft meat of his inner thighs.   
  
“Do you want me to touch you any higher?”   
  
Barry’s brain stuttered. If Arthur’s knuckles went any higher he would-- No. That was ridiculous. He meant his back and shoulders, maybe even his arms. He was being considerate.   
  
“I would like that… If you wanted.”   
  
“I hoped you would.” Arthur grinned. He traced with two fingers over the center seam of his shorts and ground down until Barry gasped. Spots blackened his vision, he reached for Arthur’s wrist and held on. “You been staining these for a good five minutes now.”   
  
The speedforce sent Barry against the headboard, leaving Arthur behind. He cornered himself against the wood, knees bent against his chest and locked tightly together. He hadn't slowed down and could still see Arthur as he had been. That hadn't been an accident. Time snapped like a rubberband, Arthur stared at the empty space between them and then up at Barry.   
  
“Too fast?” He smiled. “My bad. Did you wanna kiss first? Get the clothes off? You seem like a due process kind of guy.”   
  
Barry’s mouth and eyes were identical circles. Kiss? How did they get there of all things?! Forming words had never been more annoying, he had an alphabet soup of questions he couldn't get across. He knocked his knees together emphatically.   
  
Arthur’s eyebrows raised. He took a turn for the apologetic, raising his hands.   
  
“Holy shit. That's my bad, Barry. I should have-- I got issues being direct about this. I've gotten used to playing a game. I should have realized you weren't… Beating around the bush." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You straight up didn't know. Can we talk? Is it alright if we talk right now or do you wanna go and do it later?”   
  
Barry understood less than he had before, but the deer in the headlights look had calmed down some. Arthur was embarrassed, shy even, he rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously.   
  
“Okay. We can… talk.” He said.   
  
Arthur nodded. He sat cross legged on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He scratched at the side of his mouth thoughtfully, It was oddly comforting to think he had as much of a hard time as Barry when it came to hashing out things on the spot.   
  
“I've been trying to get your attention for a while now. I thought the flirting was doing it. I realize now you weren't flirting.”   
  
Flirting? Arthur? With HIM?   
  
“I was flirting!” Barry rushed. His head was still reeling from hearing Arthur was actually TRYING to get his attention. “Today at least….”   
  
“Oh?” Arthur perked up. “I gotta tell you, that makes me feel less like a complete jackass. So it's not me that's got you running. Did I come too strong just now?”   
  
Barry bit his lip. “It's just-- I don't want to assume anything. It would be bad if I did. I don't know. Could you be more... explicit, when you ask?”   
  
Finally, Arthur smiled. “More explicit than me almost sticking my fingers in--"   
  
“Yes!” He interrupted, miming that that was quite enough, thank you, Arthur. If his ears got any redder they would fall off. “Verbally explicit, if you would.”   
  
The other man shrugged with characteristic ease, encouraged by Barry’s humor and his willingness to talk and stay in the room.   
  
“Okay, Barry. Wanna fuck?”   
  
It was sufficiently explicit.   
  
Barry flashed forward and knocked Arthur onto his back. The alcohol was well out of his system and Arthur hadn't even drank enough to smell it in his breath. Whatever this was, it wasn't induced by liquid courage. He pressed their noses together and grinned.   
  
“I would really, really like that.”   
  
Arthur returned the grin in kind. He tipped his head forward to kiss Barry on the mouth. It was exactly as he imagined it, Arthur’s soft lips and the rough scratch of his beard. He was quick to turn the kiss sloppy with a curl of his tongue into Barry’s mouth. Arthur was easy, inviting, any combativeness on his part was a result of his size and a product of habit. He was used to taking the reins and setting the scene.   
  
He reached for Arthur’s sweats and yanked them down over his thighs. He pulled back to sit across them, abusing his speed in a way that would leave him ravenous. It was worth it with the way Arthur’s eyes darkened with every nonchalant display of power. Barry had noticed he soaked that up almost as much as he soaked up praise.   
  
Arthur’s erection stood proud and red and uh, definitely... definitely proportionate to the rest of him. He hadn't considered he might not be the only one well-affected by the massage. Instinctively, Barry ran his thumb over the head and brought it back to his mouth to suck off the slick.   
  
“You're trying to kill me.” Arthur growled.   
  
“Does it ruin the mood if I probably saw it in a porn?”   
  
He'd heard of people with a laugh like little bells. Arthur wasn't that. He laughed like the sea roaring ashore. Cliche, but true. His eyes thinned and his cheeks dimpled. He one upped Barry by holding the waistband of his red shorts and ripping them in half.   
  
“Hey! Some people take clothes very seriously!” He chastised, jabbing Arthur’s ridiculously firm abdomen.   
  
“Batguy will buy you and them as many shorts as they like.”   
  
He flattened Barry on his back and shut him up with another kiss. His mouth diverted to his jaw, down his neck, it followed an invisible line to his shoulder and polka dotted him with love bites. It would be remiss to say his hands were idle, he mapped Barry’s body like a cartographer, interested in every dip and curve and funny birthmark he stopped to snicker at. He paused over Barry’s top surgery scars with curiosity, but didn't linger any more than he did over the bullet scar on his waistline, as if making sure the scars are old and he won't hurt him by touching them. Barry wasn't a foreplay guy, something to do with being a speedster, or just impatient, but he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Arthur’s brand of Express Foreplay.   
  
“You really--" Arthur kissed him and he kept talking around his tongue. “Kno’ yo way ‘round a guy--"   
  
“You talk a lot, Barry.” He pointed out needlessly. “It's cute. I dig it.”   
  
His thumbs curved over the wings of his hips. He slid to one side of Barry to more comfortably get his hand between his legs. He urged him to fit their bodies together, dragged Barry’s leg back over his hip. It left him feeling exposed, just on the side of nervous. Arthur kissed his temple, Barry’s head laid snugly over his other arm, using his bicep as a pillow and turning his head against his chest as Arthur opened him up with his fingers.   
  
“Can't you just-- Why won't you just fuck me!” His voice stretched into a whine.   
  
“Not from behind.” Arthur said, like that explained anything, but didn't leave any room for contest.   
  
There was nothing small or unsatisfying about his fingers. Arthur kept him distracted with kisses to his hair, but nothing could stop him from groaning and squirming while he curved and pistoned his fingers. They ground down over every spot that had Barry seeing not stars, but entire constellations and planets on the bedroom wall. Laying half on their sides, half on their backs, with Barry’s legs spread over Arthur, he could feel the other man’s dick a scant few inches from his entrance. All it would take was a good nudge and he could replace his fingers for what Barry really wanted filling him up.   
  
Arthur was waiting for something, but what that was Barry couldn't tell. His fingers met no resistance. Barry burned for him and pulsed and dripped around his fingers with terrible, embarrassing sounds. Even for his stupidly large dick, he was prepped enough. It was confusing and frustrating and he just wanted-- He wanted.   
  
“Please, Arthur.” He begged.   
  
He stopped instantly. Barry heard his breath hitch. Of course, that was it.   
  
Kinky fucker.   
  
Arthur chuckled. He fed Barry his wet fingers and he didn't have to ask to have them sucked clean. Maybe Barry was a little kinky too. Not too much, though, not for their first time.   
  
“I should be on top.” He warned when Arthur pulled them apart and leaned over him with his hands at either side of Barry’s head. He seemed to consider Barry’s words for an instant before dismissing them altogether.   
  
“Nah.” He replied.     
  
Barry didn't fight him for it. Tussling now would only delay what he needed so badly. He breathed through his nose and out his mouth, wiggling in place as Arthur came closer.   
  
The tip should have been the easiest part. He was slick and open from Arthur’s fingers, every part of him screamed with anticipation. The speedforce coursed through his body, dormant but crackling, ready to awaken any second now, urged on by Barry’s rapid heartbeat.   
  
He hadn't counted on accidentally meeting Arthur’s eyes, or the perfect curve of his dick, or the soft, happy sound Arthur made as he was enveloped by shuddering heat.   
  
The speedforce took the adrenaline in his system as a sign. It replaced the blood in his veins and made everything faster, immensely hotter, he felt Arthur more keenly than he could hope to understand. It sparked through him fast, hard, and--   
  
“Did you just come on half my cock?” Arthur asked incredulously as the backdrop of blue lightning slipped under and Barry short circuited. His breathing came in hard puffs, his chest heaved, the tips of his fingers tingled, and the space between his throat and waist was the bright red of his suit.   
  
“That's why I had to be on top.” He whined.   
  
It was the curse and gift of the speedster, not a clever excuse to brush off the premature ejaculation. Barry had his fun when it was just him and his hand, but partners were socially conditioned to slow down after an orgasm. Barry was no one-hit wonder and when he was on top he made sure they knew it.   
  
As if to prove his point, Arthur started to pull out.   
  
“I know some people get sensitive after-- Should I?”   
  
Barry gave him the warning of an unhappy look before digging his heels into his back and pulling him intimately close. Arthur fell forward onto his elbows. Barry’s back bowed, he echoed Arthur’s groan against his shoulder and went delicious limp. There was more of him than his bravado had calculated for. It was perfect.   
  
“Yeah.” He uncurled his toes and nuzzled Arthur’s neck. “That hits the spot.”   
  
Arthur’s hair fell forward around his flushed face. He hadn't been expecting that move, if the panting against Barry’s skin was anything to go on. He barked out a laugh.   
  
“Should have guessed you'd be a little freaky in the sack, Barry.”   
  
“Little?” He feigned offense. The aftershocks of his first orgasm still shook him up inside, he clenched down on Arthur's dick to force a sound out of him. “Are you legally allowed to even use that word, Jolly Green Giant?”   
  
“Freaky and mouthy.” He clicked his tongue.   
  
“Yeah, don't see you doing much about it.”   
  
The snark had the desired effect. Fixing him with a hard look of determination, Arthur hooked his thumbs beneath his knees, and touched them to Barry’s chest, bending him in half. Barry squealed as it drove Arthur that last, elusive inch deeper.   
  
“Oh, fuck. Hamburger fold-- My body can do that, okay. Alright.”   
  
“Yeah it can. Looks damn good doing it too.”   
  
If the compliment was meant to be a truce, Arthur didn't show it. Barry barely had a moment to process it before he pulled back and then thrust forward hard enough to make their skin slap. He did it again and again, always quick and just brutal enough to knock Barry’s vision out of focus. The friction would drive him insane, coaxing a litany of moans out of him that were and weren't words. He felt warm and full, drowned in the scent of saltwater and the sharp tang of metal, but it wasn't enough. His hands were splayed out on the bed, fingers tight around the sheets in the absence of anything else to hold. He couldn't claw comfortably at Arthur’s back, or pull him into a kiss. He needed more than their bodies meeting at three points.   
  
He had the advantage of speed against Arthur’s unwavering strength. There was no doubt in his mind that Arthur would let him up if he asked, but he wanted the satisfaction of prying his fingers away from his legs one at a time, laying him out on his back, and watching his face twist in real time as Barry sat down on his cock.   
  
Arthur’s moans hiccuped like he was coming up for air. He held Barry’s hips bruisingly tight.   
  
“You fucking--"   
  
“That's the idea.” Barry chimed.   
  
He had Arthur to thank for getting his legs feeling better than ever, it was only fair he reap the rewards. Barry’s hands took generous handfuls of his pecs and squeezed. He'd always wanted to do that.   
  
Barry knew he everything there was to know about anatomy. He understood perfect fits were a thing of chance and romance novels, but with Arthur’s dick kissing up his insides, never uncomfortably, he was willing to believe in fate. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he bucked down hard against the other man.   
  
“Later,” He said conversationally, as if he wasn't riding Arthur’s dick like they were on a time limit. “when your come’s drying on my thighs--”   
  
He didn't get to finish the thought. Arthur surged up and joined their mouths in a deep, wet kiss.  Sitting on his lap, rutting together with an air of desperation, was about as close to equal ground as either of their personalities would allow for. He raked his nails down Arthur’s back, drinking in every sound like nectar of the gods.   
  
Barry came closer and closer to that edge. _Not yet, not yet_. His legs shook, his thighs burned from the strain of stretching the moment out. His second orgasm hit him like a crack of lightning, he broke the kiss to cry out against Arthur’s mouth.   
  
Arthur pulled him clean off his dick and held him so tight he couldn't move despite Barry’s protesting keen. It cut his happy afterglow short, the promise of a third orgasm even more so. Barry pawed at Arthur’s chest and the arm wrapped around his waist. The other man's eyes bulged out comically wide.   
  
“Barry, what the fuck?” Arthur asked with what little breath he had left.   
  
“It happens! I'll tell you next time I'm close.” He busted out the pouty lip.   
  
“What? No, that's not…” Arthur looked at the slick streaks he was leaving across both their bellies. “Barry, you just… Vibrated. Hard. Inside.”   
  
Barry blinked. Oh.   
  
Oh.   
  
He hadn't done that using his hands before.   
  
His grin was evil.   
  
“And you didn't like it?” He asked sheepishly, kissing Arthur’s sharp cheek above the beard.   
  
“It's definitely not that.” Arthur huffed. “Took me by surprise. I almost finished before I was through with you. Who fucking knows how many times you can come, but I am one and done. Two if I'm lucky and don't mind if it hurts.”   
  
“And you didn't want to leave me all on my lonesome.” The grin widened. “That's so chivalrous."   
  
“If you're gonna mock me, Barry--"   
  
“No mocking! No mocking. I'm happy about it actually." Barry sighed. He got Arthur to ease up his hold and lifted his hips to rub against the tip of his dick. “You're so considerate.”   
  
He truly was a dreamboat. A bad boy with a heart of gold. Barry’s very own Han Solo. A young Captain Kirk. Every other handsome fictional character Barry wanted to sleep with after he figured out he liked men. Arthur was real and so much better.   
  
Barry focused on Arthur’s length inside him. He reached out to the speedforce and borrowed just a shock of electricity. He hummed, and the molecules below his waist hummed along with him. Arthur's answering moan was worth his weight in gold. He couldn't hold the vibrations for longer than a few seconds at a time, not between rising and falling on Arthur’s lap and licking the inside of his mouth. It was enough. Arthur’s dick twitched dangerously, his brows knit tight as he focused on not coming. That wasn't what Barry wanted. He wanted him to break apart, he wanted to feel him come when he did.   
  
Arthur grunted. He felt his teeth against his hear. “Should have listened to my gut and had you across a table when I thought we were going to die, but I'm glad I waited ‘cause you deserve a bed."   
  
“Fuck, Arthur, if you wanted to fuck me in a beach chair I wouldn't complain--" Barry laughed.   
  
“We'll get there.” He promised. “After I've run out of flat surfaces in this room, and this building."   
  
The promise of a road to get there, that there would be more of this in their future, gave Barry the push he needed to finish.   
  
His entire body shivered with the force of it. His muscles tightened around Arthur, stubbornly forcing the man to follow with his own orgasm. The man had been right to delay it. His entire weight fell forward onto Barry and crushed him into the sheets. He didn't care. He bore it with his hands on Arthur’s hair, pressing open mouth kisses over his neck and shoulders, enjoying the way their bodies moved together seeking those last precious seconds of pleasure.   
  
After long weeks pining, not even knowing his feelings were returned, too afraid even to fantasize of this moment lest he live without ever obtaining it, Barry felt good in ways that had nothing to do with sex.   
  
Coming down from it felt as good as the build up. Their hot breaths mingled in lazy kisses. His lips would be bruised in the morning along with his hips and thighs if he wasn't so quick to regenerate. He would grieve over the loss of Arthur’s marks.   
  
“You're a fucking wonder.” Arthur said, like a secret, into his ear.   
  
_And you_ , Barry thought. He struggled to get the words across and couldn't. He spelled them out in a quick succession of kisses like morse code on Arthur’s shoulder.   
  
“Yeah.” He said instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLS B NICE. Im an amateur at R rated stuff

**Author's Note:**

> this will turn into smut. i cant do smut without build up so sadly, here's build up. you'll get your smut eventually!


End file.
